Of Bad Dreams and Juvenille Pranks
by escapedreality
Summary: Several minutes, or perhaps it was several hours. He didn't really care. ArthurAriadne.
1. Chapter 1

**I saw the movie and immediately fell in love with it, causing me to go see it a second time within the week (and it was equally as awesome). I love all the characters and their personalities and I had to write something. This is what came to mind. ****Also I apologize if I messed up whose dream is whose. I confused myself I think.**

**Disclaimer: It's Nolan's, not mine.**

**Enjoy!**

She pulled a golden pawn out of her pocket and placed it on the nightstand. She held her breath and gave it a flick.

She released her breath once the chess piece had fallen on its side with a small clatter.

It was only then that she dare shut her eyes.

* * *

She woke later with a start, tangled in the pristine white sheets the hotel had dressed the bed with. A digital clock showed 12:57 and cast a red glow on the pawn.

She flicked it, watched it fall and let out a sigh of relief.

The young woman climbed out of bed, grabbed her totem and padded softly across the cold stone floor to the small living room of the suite.

The room was dark, save for the light from the city peeking through the curtains. She could hear the forager's snores coming from the other room.

Quietly, the architect began searching the room for a gleam of silver; a briefcase that would solve her problem. So absorbed was she that she didn't take notice of the young man who was seemingly asleep on the couch.

She found no briefcase and disappointed, walked over to where the light was streaming in. She pulled open the curtains and carefully slid open the glass door as not to make it squeak. The she sat, knees drawn up, on the balcony staring out at the city below.

"Ariadne?"

She turned quickly to see the point man leaning against the doorframe. He looked as if he had fallen asleep without realizing it. He was still dressed in what he had worn on the plane, though it was rumpled and his hair disheveled. She suddenly felt very self-conscious only in her over-sized shirt.

"Ariadne?"He repeated, walking over next to her and sitting down on the concrete ground of the balcony, "Why are you awake?"

"Because I can't sleep. I'm having- I'm having bad dreams" she instantly regretted it soon as she said it, she sounded like a small child.

"But you still can dream." He commented. She gave a harsh laugh.

"Yes, but I'd rather not."

"No? Most people who do what we do, they wish they could still dream."

"Like you?"

He gave her that look, that one he wore when he was working, when he was figuring something out.

And he didn't think he's ever be able to figure her out.

"Yes," he said shortly, "Like me. But you still haven't answered my question."

She let out a sigh and twirled her curls around her figure, making him want to reach out and run his hands through her hair too.

"In a normal dream, I'm trapped. I have no control over the proceedings. Images come and go at their own leisure and I'm forced to sit and watch. And what I see? I see Saito's shirt stained red with blood. I hear gun shots. I see Fischer's face when I pushed him. I see Cobb struggling with himself. And last? I see Mal with a knife running at me. And then I wake up. But it always ends with Mal and a knife." Said the architect heavily.

Arthur placed a hand on her shoulder and gently lifted her face to face him. She shivered at his touch.

"Hey, look at me. None of it is real, right?" he pulled out his die and tossed it between his fingers. She gave him a small shadow of a smile.

"I know. I just hate not being in control. Once you've had a taste of creating like that…"

"There's nothing quite like it." He supplied. "Wait here."

As if she was going to go somewhere.

He returned with a silver briefcase and a sweatshirt.

"Honestly, I'm surprised you own a sweatshirt." She joked.

"Yeah, well there is a lot about me that would surprise you," he said placing the open sweatshirt over her petite frame. "You seemed cold," he explained. She flushed and pulled the sweatshirt more tightly around her.

Arthur sat the briefcase on the ground in front of her. "If you can't sleep…"

She pulled out one tube and then another, holding it out to the man across from her.

"You're welcome to join."

He hesitated for a moment, then took it from her.

* * *

Eames woke groggily, looked at the clock and cussed. 1:29.

He dragged himself up, muttering how he hated long flights and how he might as well have coffee if he was up.

He didn't notice them until he was settled on the couch. He was quite comfortable yet something _compelled_ him to get up. When he saw the dreamers, his face lit up as though it was Christmas morning.

"Yusuf! I'm going to need your help!"

* * *

He had meant for it to be her dream so she could create to her heart's content.

But it appeared the fates were against him, or perhaps they simply messed up for he found himself doing the creating and Ariandne's subconscious buzzing around them.

"Why Paris?" she asked, looking before her at the structure that was clearly the Eiffel Tower, regardless of the fact that the surroundings didn't fit.

"That is a very good question." The point man replied looking around. He had an inkling of a suspicion as to why they were **here.**

"Well I must say this is a vast improvement over the rain of the Fischer job." She said, looking up at the bright, clear skies.

"Didn't you design the Fischer job?" pointed out Arthur, a smirk playing on his face. She waved this off.

"That is beside the point. How good are you at building?" she asked suddenly.

"You know, there is a reason I'm the point man and not the Architect."

"Oh c'mon Arthur," he loved hearing his name coming from her lips, "try something simple." She coaxed as they made their way around the Tower.

A wooden staircase with no apparent end appeared, winding itself around the Eiffel Tower just as she had wrapped her curls around her finger. She laughed and he took it that he had done a reasonable job.

"Not bad!" she exclaimed. "C'mon!" she grabbed his wrist and clambered up the first few steps, dragging him along.

Her hand was soft compared to his own calloused one. He found himself reaching to grasp her hand as if it were normal. She didn't pull away.

They walked along the staircase hand in hand, chatting for several minutes, or perhaps it was several hours. Arthur honestly didn't know—or care.

"Is this one of those paradoxes you seem so partial to?" asked Ariadne.

"Hmm? How should I know?" he replied.

"Well, it's you design after all."

She had him there.

"I had my mind on other things." Her. "Like your projections that seem to be taking notice of me," he improvised. This was at least, partially true. Some of the projections below had paused to look up at the point man.

"Oh well then you had better give me a kiss," said Ariadne, her voice unmistakably dripping with sarcasm.

Arthur however, chose to ignore this fact.

He cupped her face in his hands and covered her lips with his own. She paused for a beat, surprised (this was certainly nothing like the Fischer job). Still, she found herself winding her arms around his neck as his hands traveled from her face to tangle themselves in her hair.

And both of them took no notice as the dream began to collapse around them. Not until the stairs at las fell away from beneath them and they were jolted awake.

* * *

She found herself resting her head on something that was rising and falling steadily—

"Now, you two are just bloody adorable but we really should be on our way to meet Cobb before our flight shouldn't we?" an accented voice asked. Her eyes flew open.

Eames was leaning on the doorframe, smirking at the Architect and Point Man, clearly amused.

Ariadne realized then that it was Arthur's chest she was resting on and that it was his arm wrapped around her waist. The briefcase lay behind her, flashing 00:00:00 and the tubes were still connected to the dreamers. She ripped hers out and shot up like a rocket, blushing profusely. Her legs were tangled in his and the sheets causing her to practically fall out of the bed. She left the room hurriedly, without even looking at Eames.

Arthur had been jerked awake by her sudden movement. Bleary-eyed he had automatically reached into his pocket for the red die that resided there. Upon finding himself in reality, he had glared at the still laughing Eames.

"Bastard. She isn't going to look at either one of us again today. I assume you employed Yusuf's help?"

"Naturally. You aren't light you know, even more so when you're sleeping."

Arthur had nothing to say and simply shook his head at the forager, annoyed (what else was new?). However, he almost felt a tad bit grateful toward the man.

"Oh, and Arthur, you may want to put a shirt back on."

Almost.


	2. Chapter 2

**First off, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed/favorite/alerted. I almost had a heart attack when I checked my email! Originally this was just supposed to be a one-shot but… (:**

"Eames!" a voice shouted from behind the closed door. Eames continued on with his research without so much as a glance at the door.

"Eames! Eames god damnit! Open the fucking door!" Eames looked up abruptly. He would have expected Arthur to yell him like that but Ariadne? He never thought he would hear those words leave her mouth.

Still, as he hurried to the door he couldn't help but putting in his two cents.

"Now darling, I don't think that's very lady- " he stopped talking mid-sentence as he opened the warehouse door. The forger's eyes widened.

The architect was standing closest, a child no more than two clutched in her arms. Blood was smeared on her jeans and her shirt. The point man was standing behind her, supporting an unconscious, bleeding woman and holding a scrunched up sweatshirt to her abdomen. He was covered in blood as well.

"Jesus Christ!" he said as Ariadne ushered the child into the warehouse. Arthur carried the woman to one of the lawn chairs, setting her dowm gingerly.

"Why the hell didn't you call an ambulance?" he asked shutting the door behind him.

"Oh yes, let's call the authorities and explain why we were being shot at." Arthur said sardonically, still holding the blood soaked sweatshirt to the woman.

"Shot at?" Then for the first time he got a glimpse of her face. "Shit... Sara?"

"You know her?" Ariadne said her voice still panicky. Eames gulped.

"We've met." he said shortly.

"Very nice but where's Yusuf?" Arthur asked briskly.

"How should I know? He left an hour ago!" the forger replied, panic starting to rise in him. Arthur let out a string of oaths, causing Ariadne to cover the ears of the child sitting on her lap. The boy looked very frightened.

Eames ran and brought back a bucket of water and a rag. When he reached the chair, the woman had appeared to have regained consciousness. Though that might not necessarily be a good thing.

She was moaning and apparently trying to curl up. Arthur was holding her down.

"Now darling," Eames started. The woman turned her head with surprising speed at the sound of his voice. She looked at him for several moments before,

"You! You bastard! You son of a- " she coughed up some blood. She made a faint motioning toward Ariadne who came over with the little boy. She reached out slowly and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"That," a cough, "that man there, he's your bastard of a father."

Eames blanched as the small child looked up at him. Ariadne had turned away and Arthur was watching the whole situation with a solemn expression.

Then the architect's shoulders started heaving and small whimper's came from her mouth, followed by a loud snort. Arthur sighed.

"Honestly."

Ariadne waved an apologetic hand before being overcome by a fit of giggles. Eames stood there, shocked. He didn't know how they could be being so nonchalant about someone being—

Shot?

The woman had sat up and was stretching a bit. She had taken the rag graciously from the point man and was cleaning up the blood. The little boy was grinning.

"Sorry guys," said Ariadne still trying to control her laughter, "but Eames, you should have seen your face!"

Slowly Arthur had started laughing too, followed by the other two people in the room. He was very confused.

"Would someone kindly explain what the bloody hell is going on?" he shouted. The woman, Sara, looked up.

"First off, before you have a heart attack, Adrian is mine, but not yours." The color slowly started returning to Eames' face.

"You see, we, me and Ariadne that is couldn't simply let you get away with your last prank." Arthur started.

"So we found one of your old ah, _acquaintances_ and asked for her help." Said Ariadne, a broad grin still on her face.

"They asked me to essentially, help give you a heart attack. And clearly it worked." Sara said happily. Eames slunk down into the chair.

"Dear god."

Sara had gotten up, now relatively blood free and picked up little Adrian. "It was lovely working with you two, but we really have to go."

"No problem, you played your part very well." said Arthur, leading the two to the door. Ariadne took a seat next to the still stunned forger.

"You're going to think twice before doing something again aren't you?" she asked. He looked up at her, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"We'll see love, we'll see."


End file.
